Alone Together
by HopefulVoice
Summary: In front of her, she can see the cold beauty in the eyes of someone who hasn't felt loved in a very long time.


"Sansa."

It seems to her that things are on a path to disgrace and racing every second. It seems to her that in spite of her best intentions, endless effort, it's still never going to be enough. It seems to her that nothing could ever compare to what life was a couple of years back, and now there's nothing left to do and there's nothing left to save, and the more she tries the more she fails.

Instead of coming up with more excuses and making up ghosts to haunt her just to justify her fears when the sun goes down and the moon reigns, she takes her time with washing her face in front of the mirror, and presses her lips together when she looks at herself; her face clean and fresh, and she can't help but think that she's staring at a stranger.

"Sansa."

In front of her, she can see the cold beauty in the eyes of someone who hasn't felt loved in a very long time. She can see the traces and features and only because they remind her greatly of her mother, she could agree that beautiful the reflection is indeed. However she sees past that, and doesn't at the same time. She sees past that in the sense that the vague beauty of someone else doesn't impress her - she simply doesn't buy it. She sees past that, because she can smile the most beautiful smiles and it still wouldn't quite portray the meaning of happiness. And at the same time, she doesn't see past that, because even if she tries hard, she can't see anything worth keeping her eyes open for.

In more ways than one, she's absolutely clueless as to who's the person looking back at her.

"My lady, are you listening to me?"

All she does is to set aside memories in a shelf, so they can collect dust same as she collects regrets. It's a wicked thing, but she can't help it, can't stop it for the life of her. And before she notices it, she wants to scream. She shuts her eyes and covers her face with her hands, because she can't stare at her face any longer and she doesn't know how to deal with that.

The scream comes but it's mute. She parts her lips until her mouth is wide-open and her chest is going up and down, and she feels like she's suffocating but on the contrary, all she does is to inhale; she might burst. Her vocal cords don't work though, and as much as she tries to let her voice out and let her fears out and let all the animals and beasts out, she's spent too much time focused on keeping them locked to now allow them to do anything else but to remain quiet.

Then it comes, all at once.

Tyrion's hand on her shoulder, hesitantly, but also protectively. Tyrion's wake-up call to reality and so it's hers as well; the most fond way of screaming together. Tyrion squeezes her shoulder and she turns to him, and her breath is a little erratic still, and Tyrion looks like he understands. Sits beside her, shakes his head in silence for a moment, and the man who spars with others at every turn is, for once, at a loss for words. Can't pronounce a thing, like he's either forgotten the common tongue or forgotten how to let words come out as well. And for a moment there, Tyrion forgets about his demons because Sansa has plenty of her own.

Tyrion puts his hands around her, and suggests with a touch that she rests her head against his shoulder. Sansa doesn't; hesitates, and looks to the side, and sees ghouls and witches hiding behind the curtains. Her hands are trembling and she doesn't want to give in but does.

"My lord..." she tries but trails off.

When her eyes go to Tyrion's instead of the reflection, something breaks and something amends. She's not sure what does which, but her eyes fill with tears and though she badly wants to let go of her apprehensions and fears, and actually talk about everything, words still fail her, so she just nods quietly, and swallows the sinking feeling, resting her head on Tyrion's shoulder at least.

They stay quiet for a moment.

There's no thinking about all the horrors they've both experienced. There's no thinking about how toxic it can be to be in their own skin, and how they could share bad memories on being themselves. There's none of that, because no words are required at all. There's none of that, but the faint memory of skeletons hiding in their closets, and how they can bring doomed ones together.


End file.
